


Playing Dress-Up

by Emachinescat



Series: Sesquipedalian [21]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Romance, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bedizen,v.<br/>(bih-DAHY-zuhn)<br/>To dress or adorn in a showy, gaudy, or tasteless manner</p><p>Merlin gets injured and Arthur is left to dress himself one evening for a dinner date with Gwen. But much like his father, the prince has been cursed with terrible fashion sense...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Dress-Up

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

It was a sad day when the prince of Camelot couldn't dress himself properly.

Merlin had had a bit of a spill on the training field the day before; he'd been the victim of one of Arthur's favorite "torture Merlin" sessions, where he'd been made to strap a big wooden target on his back and then run back and forth across the field while Arthur threw knives and small axes and other such pointy objects at him – well, at the target, but it all felt very much the same to Merlin – and Merlin had accidentally stepped in a hole, wrenched his ankle as he fell forward, and wound up with a highly painful, super sensitive, enormously swollen and radically colorful ankle as a result.

Arthur had been worried and a bit guilty, Merlin could tell, though he'd covered it up with his usual insults and irritation, calling Merlin a clumsy idiot, never mind that he'd just been chucking deadly weapons at his retreating back. He'd helped an only half-aware Merlin to Gaius's chambers, and when he asked why Merlin wasn't responding normally, Gaius had concluded that his body was going through some kind of shock at the sudden, debilitating pain. His ankle wasn't broken, but it had been wrenched terribly, and he wouldn't be able to walk on it for a couple of weeks, at least.

After finding this out, Arthur had called Merlin useless, accused him of intentionally spraining his ankle so he could get out of work, and then gave him an almost kind pat on the shoulder, told him to get better, and said that he  _might_  come by after the council meeting tomorrow night to check on him, if he had the time, and hadn't forgotten about Merlin by then.

His words were rude and unkind, but his eyes told another story; Arthur had never been particularly good at expressing his emotions about anything other than hunger, annoyance, or anger, and Merlin had learned early on in their relationship that an irritable, grumpy and rude Arthur was actually just a guise to cover up whatever else he was feeling. And judging by the poorly concealed look in his eyes, he had been feeling pretty guilty about Merlin's fall and the pain he was in, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone (probably not even himself, Merlin decided).

Merlin had begged Gaius to let him at least  _try_  to heal it with magic (he hadn't really mastered any healing spells yet, but now seemed like to be the optimal time to try), but Gaius wouldn't hear of it.

"Merlin, if you were to get up after severely injuring your ankle, don't you think Arthur would be suspicious?"

"He's pretty oblivious. I don't think he'd pay much mind," had been Merlin's answer.

"You need to let this heal naturally," Gaius had admonished. "Remember what happened the last time you tried a healing spell on an injured sparrow?"

Merlin winced. The poor bird had had a broken wing, Merlin had felt sorry for it, and he really hadn't meant to turn it into a sprig of yarrow.

"I don't think I'll turn my foot into an herb," he said hopefully.

"Merlin, be quiet and drink your medicine," Gaius had sighed as way of ending the conversation. "It'll help with the pain."

* * *

And so it was that Arthur was left without a servant, and the servant that had taken Merlin's place the day before had gone to supper with the other servants. Arthur looked at the large plate of food in front of him at his own table, and thought that he'd like to share it with someone special.

He thought of Guinevere, with her smooth skin and beautiful black curls, and brown eyes so deep he could drown in them. He'd checked on Merlin earlier, using the excuse of wanting to make sure the idiot wasn't faking his injuries to get out of work, but really just wanting to make sure the servant was feeling okay. It had unnerved him more than he cared to admit to see all the color drain out of Merlin's face yesterday after he'd tripped, and to see him quivering all over, barely able to string two words together because of the pain. He'd pretty much had to  _carry_  Merlin to the physician's chambers, for heaven's sake!

Merlin had been sleeping when he'd gotten there, though, the offending foot wrapped heavily in gauze and propped up on a few meager pillows, and Gaius said his injury was doing as well as expected, but that Merlin had been driving him up the wall wanting to try to get up and do something, so he'd tricked him into taking a sleeping potion. Arthur had commended the old physician for his creativity and craftiness, and had gone on his way to eat his dinner, which led to him now wishing to share it with Guinevere.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was actually kind of lonely without Merlin sticking about to tease him and talk his ears off, because the temporary replacement was boring, kind of dull, and he smelled oddly of sour feet, which was why Arthur had sent him away while he ate, because the smell was making him a bit nauseated.

Arthur stood up, walked to the door, and then realized that he was still wearing his muddy, smudged breeches and tunic from training earlier, and that would hardly do for calling upon a beautiful woman. He needed to get dressed, and quickly, before the meat went cold!

He walked to his wardrobe, threw open the doors, and balked at the sheer number of clothing articles that greeted him. Since when had he had so many clothes? Did he really need five pairs of trousers of the exact same material? And where had that deep blue frilly thing that was supposed to pass for a shirt come from? He supposed it was fancy, though, for only the best of occasions… He harrumphed, not having bothered looking in his wardrobe in longer than he could remember, because he always had a servant help him get dressed. And he'd just sent away the servant that would have done that.

"I'm a prince," Arthur said as he glared imposingly at his clothing, as if attempting to intimidate it into cooperating with him. "I can dress myself, and I can do it well."

He started rifling through the articles, determined to be dressed his best when he went to surprise Guinevere with a dinner fit for a prince.

* * *

Gwen wasn't exactly looking forward to eating another meal of tough smoked chicken and watercress, but she had to eat what she had, even if she had been eating it for the past three days.

She was contemplating this when there was a knock at her door. Brows furrowed, she stood up from where she had been sitting at her table, walked to the door, and opened it, wondering who would be calling on her at this time of evening.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw no one other than Prince Arthur standing at her doorstep, cloak around his shoulders and hood over his head, a basket in one hand and the other hand clenching the fabric of his cloak shut around his chest, trying to conceal his appearance as much as possible, probably so that the guards wouldn't recognize him and start asking questions about why he was visiting peasants at this time of day with a picnic basket in tow.

"Arthur," she said. "What a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might enjoy having dinner with me," Arthur said grandly, lifting the basket slightly. "Can I come in? Sorry; I don't want my father to hear about this and get suspicious."

Gwen nodded quickly, her heart pounding at the thought of Arthur surprising her with dinner! It was wonderfully romantic, and it showed that he was truly making an effort to—

Her line of thought was abruptly cut off as Arthur stepped over the threshold, closed the door behind him, and then took of his cloak, revealing the… erm… attire that lay beneath.

He was wearing tight breeches made of what looked to be softened leather that went to just below his knees. They were dyed bright red and left little to the imagination. His deep blue tunic, garnished with ruffles at every turn, hung to just below the waistline. The front of the shirt, along with its ruffles, was accented with golden thread that just made the attire that more gaudy and atrocious. Thick white stockings traveled up his legs and up under the hem line of his trouser legs, and fine leather boots covered about half of the socks.

Gwen snorted in laughter, but quickly covered it up with a cough and a sniffle that she thought was quite convincing. What on earth had possessed Arthur that he would be wearing  _that_  monstrosity? Was this some kind of a joke? But no, looking at his handsome face, into his deep blue eyes, she realized that he was being completely genuine right now. Which meant…

He actually thought that what he was wearing was… nice? Elegant? She wasn't sure, but it made the hat Merlin had worn when he'd been poisoned last year pretty tame. Merlin! Could this be some kind of trick on Arthur on Merlin's part?

"Guinevere, are you taking ill?" Arthur asked, quickly striding forward, setting the basket down on the ground beside him, and gently cupping her face in his warm hand. The lace on the end of his sleeve tickled her face, and she fought the urge to giggle.

"No, my lord," Gwen quickly managed, keeping her eyes on his face, because if she were to look at his clothing, she might lose it. "Um, did Merlin pick out your attire?"

"No," Arthur said. "He's injured."

"Oh, no!" Gwen said. "What happened?"

"He was a clumsy oaf and twisted his ankle. But don't worry; he'll be fine. And I sent off his temporary replacement to eat his own dinner, so I picked out my wardrobe myself." He beamed. "I found the most elegant ensemble for our dinner, my beautiful Guinevere, because you deserve only the best."

Gwen smiled, her eyes dancing, hoping that she would be able to get through the dinner without completely losing control, because Arthur was so sincere – and so helplessly unfashionable without the help of a servant, it seemed, and no wonder; people had been picking out his clothes for him since he was born – and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

But, oh heavens, did he look  _ridiculous_! It was precious, in a hilarious sort of way.

* * *

Arthur decided to check on Merlin one more time after his date with Guinevere, to see if he was awake. He was slightly troubled, and even though he complained about Merlin every chance he got, the servant had actually somehow gained Arthur's trust, and even though he was an idiot, there were occasions where he was sometimes wise, and he needed some advice.

He knocked on Gaius's door. No one opened it for him, but a voice from inside, Merlin's voice, told him he could come in.

So he did.

Merlin was sitting at the table in one of the crudely carved chairs, foot propped up in another one, absently picking at a bowl of some unappetizing mixture with a spoon. "Gaius is out on his late rounds in the castle," Merlin said, looking up. "He—"

He looked up and choked, even though he hadn't been eating anything. His expression was unreadable, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. "Um, Arthur," he said. "What—?"

"I know, you're supposed to be resting," Arthur said grumpily as he plopped down into the chair across the table from Merlin, the servant's eyes watching him strangely the whole time. "But I was just on my way back from Guinevere's and I—"

"Hold on," Merlin said, eyes wide, and he looked so horrified that Arthur forgot to remind him that he was a servant and Arthur was a prince and servants did  _not_  interrupt princes,  _ever_.

"What?" Arthur asked quickly, resisting the urge to swing around and see if some horrible beast was sneaking up behind him. "What is it?"

"You visited Gwen?"

Arthur frowned. "Yes. Did you sprain your hearing as well as your foot?" It was a stupid insult, so much so that neither young man acknowledged it.

"Like that? You visited Gwen?"

" _Yes_ ,  _Mer_ lin. What are you on about?"

"Who, ah… Who helped you get dressed, sire?"

" _I_  did. I'm not entirely incapable of taking care of myself like you might think."

"Well, erm, did you happen to… I don't know… get dressed in the dark or something?" Arthur glared at his servant, who quickly backtracked, "because if you did, that's great. I mean, getting dressed in the dark is a skill that few have mastered…"

" _What_  are you trying to say,  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head as if resigning himself to something. "You know what, Arthur? I'm not trying to say anything. I'm sure you and Gwen had a lovely time."

"I hope so," Arthur said, troubled. "But she was coughing and sniffling and even snorted a few times during our meal. I think she might be getting ill."

Merlin snorted.

"Oh, no, not you too!" Arthur moaned. "Is there some sort of sickness going around?"

Merlin looked very much like he wanted to say something in response, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well?" said Arthur.

"I don't think I would worry, Arthur," Merlin finally said. "Gaius hasn't said anything about any kind of sickness."

"Oh," said Arthur, feeling a bit better. "Hopefully it was nothing."

"I'm sure it was," said Merlin, and he looked like he was holding back a smile.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, sire."

Arthur glared disbelievingly at Merlin for a moment, but then decided it would be safer for all of them if he didn't pursue this line of conversation any further. "How is your foot?" Arthur asked.

"About the same," Merlin admitted. "Gaius said it'll be a few weeks before I can fully use it again. Um… are you planning on letting a servant help you with everything while I'm out of commission? Like with dinner, and training, and I don't know, maybe getting dressed…?"

"Of course," Arthur said. "I'm not going to let your laziness affect my standard of living. Winston will be back first thing in the morning to attend to me."

"Oh," Merlin said, wrinkling his nose. "He smells like an old cheese."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was thinking foot."

"It's not his fault," Merlin said. "Gaius said he has some sort of toe fungus he's been treating—"

"Enough information, Merlin. I'll ask you to mention to Gaius the possibility of speeding up his treatment if at all possible."

Merlin nodded. "I'm sure he'll do what he can, sire."

The door opened and Gaius walked in. "What are you wanting me to do, Merlin?" he asked, having come in at the tail end of the conversation. When he saw Arthur, his eyes went wide and his eyebrow nearly lifted off from his face it flew so high. "Sire!" he said incredulously. "What on  _earth_  are you wearing? You… you look like an absolute…" He broke off, catching Arthur's warning glance, apparently remembering who he was talking to, and finished lamely, "dream. You look like an absolute dream."

"I'm not an idiot," Arthur said dryly. "I can see that you all  _still_  haven't learned your lesson about lying to me because I'm a prince."

Merlin seemed relieved. "Oh, so this was another test, then? Like when you pretended to hunt after a bear-faced monster and instead secretly competed in the tournament a couple of months ago? Ah, that makes sense."

Arthur glared at him. "Actually, I was feeling quite good about myself until Guinevere started making all those strange noises during dinner, but I thought that it couldn't be my appearance clothing that was bothering her, because she knows that I don't want people lying to me to make me happy, so I decided that she must be ill, which was why I came to visit you. But the way you reacted to me and the way that Gaius reacted, well… I can tell that you don't approve of how I look, and instead of telling me the truth, you lied so I wouldn't get angry!"

Gaius gaped like a fish, and Merlin grinned sheepishly. "Did it work?"

"What do you think,  _Mer_ lin?"

"Well…"

"Shut up. If you don't like the way I styled my hair, you should have just said so. I'm not  _that_  unapproachable, am I?"

He stormed out of the room.

* * *

Gaius and Merlin looked at each other for all of one moment after Arthur left the room and then burst out laughing. "He thought it was his  _hair_  we were laughing at?" Merlin chortled, nearly knocking his bowl of soup over in his mirth.

"It's not his fault," Gaius pitifully tried to defend the prince. "He's had someone choose his clothes for him since he was born."

"Then shouldn't he at least have had an idea of what he should have chosen?"

Gaius shrugged his hunched shoulders, a lopsided grin on his wrinkled face. "He's just like his father in that way," he said. "Princely and noble and able to carry himself as a royal, but the moment he's faced to make a mundane decision about what to wear or which crown matches what robe, well, he just freezes. I think it's a result of all the pressure they go through every day."

"I think it's because he's got a thick head," Merlin supplied cheerily.

"Eat your dinner, Merlin, and don't say such things about our prince," Gaius scolded.

"Do you think he'll have someone help dress him tomorrow?" Merlin asked, finally scooping up a spoonful of soup, his spirits greatly improved since Arthur's hilarious visit.

"Oh, dear goodness, I hope so," Gaius said, sinking down into the chair across from Merlin that Arthur had previously occupied. "If not, he might very well cause a riot walking around in the castle like that."

Merlin laughed, then realized that Gaius was completely serious.

"Oh," he said blankly. "Wow."

* * *

Thankfully, a servant was there to assist Arthur with his wardrobe for the remaining time of Merlin's absence, but Merlin would never be able to get the image of Arthur's hideous outfit out of his mind, unfortunately.

The good side to all of this was that at last he finally understood that Arthur wasn't just being a lazy prat when he ordered Merlin to find his clothing and help him get dressed. He literally could not dress himself.

And although he complained about many things concerning his master and his lazy, prattish habits, Merlin never complained about helping Arthur with his wardrobe ever again.


End file.
